


Soldiers Day

by Arlene0401



Series: erurirentober 2018 [2]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Past Character Death, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-04
Updated: 2018-10-04
Packaged: 2019-07-25 01:34:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16187336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arlene0401/pseuds/Arlene0401
Summary: They have never spoken about what drives them to commemorate Soldiers Day with their late lover’s customary birthday treat every year.





	Soldiers Day

Eren has smelled a lot of bad things in his life. Blood, vomit and evaporating titan flesh. Bodies decomposing in putrid water. The burning corpses of fallen soldiers. But this smell, it is infinitely worse, although he tells himself it’s stupid to hate it so much.

Still, he feels bile rising in his throat when he comes home that day to find Levi baking an apple crumble yet again.

Eren quite likes apples. Has gathered these himself in the small orchard behind the garden, grass wet under his feet. A few late wasps buzzing sluggishly around him, air crisp and heavy with the sweet aroma of fruit. Together with Levi he has cleaned and stored them away, an important source of vitamins over the winter. Most of them get eaten raw, one of the men climbing down to the basement every day to retrieve a couple of the fruits that get progressively shrivelled up as the months pass by. Sometimes they make applesauce when they are in a fancy mood.

But apple crumble… apple crumble was Erwin’s favorite dish. 

They have never spoken about what drives them to commemorate SoldiersDay with their late lover’s customary birthday treat every year. Don’t need to, both knowing full well that it’s not only the lingering love and respect they have for him. 

For a short moment Eren hesitates, hand still on the doorknob. He could turn his back and leave. Maybe come back home tomorrow, or never again. He doesn’t. Instead, closes the door behind him with a soft click that sounds of finality. Takes his time removing his boots, coat and scarf, arranging everything neatly on the coat rack in the tiny corridor. Finally, he feels prepared enough to face Levi, the kitchen full of sweet aromas, the dessert meant for someone who is long dead and gone.

Levi is just pulling the dish from the oven and carefully puts it on the stovetop, then removes his oven mitts. As always, the crust looks perfect. Eren knows it’s going to both crisp and melting on the tongue, rich and buttery, the apples juicy and with just the right amount of tartness to counter the sweet of the crumbles.

He also knows that they are each going to choke down a spoonful or two, then pretend to be stuffed. Then Levi will wrap the casserole and carry it over to their next door neighbours, a couple of poor elderly ladies who have hardly enough to get by. As it is, Levi and Eren themselves are in no position to waste money. And this is such a frivolous waste of money, the amount of butter and sugar going into this more than they usually see in a whole month. 

Eren never argues. In a way, he needs this ritual as much as he hates it. Just like Levi needs and hates it. 

He washes his hands and tells Levi the news. Like every day, he has stopped by at the newspaper offices, reading the current exemplar hung up in the windows. Then he gets some spoons from the drawer and hands Levi their soup bowls to fill them with the stew that’s sitting on the back burner. Wordlessly, they sit down to eat, the only sounds the scraping of their spoons in the bowls. Eren dreads the moment he has to lay down his spoon and indicate he’s finished. Levi pushes his chair back, but Eren gestures him to stay seated. Takes the bowls and spoons to the sink to rinse them, then puts the still warm crumble on the table, along with two small plates and forks.

Levi only puts a small serving on each plate, unwilling to let too much go to waste. The dish looks hardly touched at all.

“Thank you,” Eren mutters and swallows around the lump in his throat. Levi only nods in acknowledgement and jabs at a tiny piece of crust. There’s no use in putting it off any longer, so Eren digs in.

It’s delicious as expected, and a flood of memories washes over him. Erwin, smiling. Placing his hand on Levi’s and thanking him for the effort. Dozing off in his armchair, surrounded by a mess of documents and ledgers. Kissing Eren, soft and full of fondness. Erwin in the mornings, hair still disheveled, face soft and unguarded under the stubble, a private moment only for Levi’s and Eren’s eyes to see. Stuffing a forkful of still steaming crumble into his mouth despite Levi’s chiding.

The sweet smell clogs up Eren’s nose, chokes his windpipe, weighs down his lungs. The nostalgia is overwhelming, and it’s acrid and bitter like smoke. On instinct, he closes his eyes, as if that could help against the onslaught of pain. Opening them again, he finds Levi shuffling around the bits on his plate, still chewing on the one tiny morsel. 

With a huff, Levi gets up and reaches for the small tin of tea leaves. It’s almost empty, but they won’t be able to buy more this month. 

In October, they always run out of tea. Some years, other provisions too. But neither man complains nor even remarks on it; it’s just one of the sacrifices they brought upon themselves.

The familiar and innocuous scent and taste of tea enables them to finally stomach their servings of dessert. Afterwards, Levi hobbles over to the tiny apartment above the bakery next door, carefully balancing the largely untouched crumble. Eren stays behind to wash the dishes. He’ll have enough time - Levi’s limp has gotten worse over the years, and it always gets more pronounced as winter approaches.

This year, he also has enough time to fasten the white chrysanthemums to their coat lapels before he hears Levi’s steps returning. The walk to the cemetery is slow. The wind is unforgiving, and Eren is glad he convinced Levi to don his scarf. Other people trickle in the same direction - weary looking men and women in military coats, each with a white flower at their lapel, some clutching small bouquets. They hardly acknowledge each other, not today - today is not a day for camaraderie and chit chat.

Today, they remember the fallen soldiers.

Eren can’t help noticing that their number has decreased again. Wonders how long it will take until no one will attend anymore. When the last of them will be resting in the cemetery they’re now headed to. Then it will remain silent and empty all year, grass growing over the plain headstones, moss creeping over the shallowly engraved names. 

The few citizens that walk or ride in the opposite direction avoid looking at them. With their grey faces and their silent, somber march, they are more ghosts than humans. They are relics of a bygone age, a past that humanity is trying to forget. The days of the walls and the titans, the Great War, they are fading to stories of old. A small boy passes them clutched to his mother’s hand, eyes big and wondrous at these strange creatures that have risen to haunt his everyday streets for one afternoon. He was born into a world that is free of war and worry. He doesn’t know he owes his carefree childhood to these men and women. To the blood they spilled, the blood that is on their skins and hearts and souls no matter how hard they try to scrub it away.

They file through the open gates and then scatter among the rows and rows of headstones. Out of the corner of his eye, Eren can see Levi’s jaw muscles bulge, but he doesn’t reach out to comfort him. Knows he wouldn’t take it kindly, not here anyway. Not today.

Erwin’s grave is among the high ranking officers. Second row, fifth to the left, they are not so tasteless to bury them in the order of succession but rather by death date. Eren has every single grave of his friends and comrades mapped in his head. They will tend to them later, but they always start with the worst. Levi plucks some stray leaves from the grass in front of the headstone, wipes his hands on his coat, then stares absently at them. Eren knows what he sees.

Sees it himself, every day. When he washes, when he looks in the mirror. Human blood isn’t like titan blood, it doesn’t evaporate. Although after they found out about the nature of titans, they all felt filthy long after it had disappeared from their skin and clothes whenever they had to slay them again. Human blood clings to the grooves of your fingers, under your nails. Crawls into your skin to stain you forever. It may not be visible to others, but that doesn’t make its weight and smell any less present. 

Eren has shed the blood of countless people, men, women and children. They came in the shape of titans, of Marleyan soldiers, of military police. Civilians, like they boy he just passed in the street. He carries them all with him, knows he’ll have to pay for them. It is what he chose, and there’s no use in lingering on it. Neither grief nor regret will make a single death undone.

But Erwin… no one weighs on him like Erwin. On Levi, too. For all his talk about making choices you would regret the least, Eren knows that he has been regretting this with every breath, every beat of his heart. Knows that he thought he would give Erwin his well deserved peace. 

Eren still feels the last press of Erwin’s lips to his own, his eyes shining too bright, the eyes of a man who has resolved to his own death. Kind, peaceful, calm. And yet. Nothing went according to plan, and Erwin did not die at the hands of the beast titan, but was instead dragged back to his lovers, broken and bloody and torn. 

And they had turned their backs to him and left him to die. A choice of logic and reason, but not of the heart, and they have been fruitlessly scrubbing their hands ever since. Carried out their mission, doing what they felt they owe to Erwin. Started and ended the Great War. 

They go through the annual bleakness of Soldiers Day, cling to their ritual of self hatred that has only partly to do with mourning and a great deal with searching for atonement. Maybe, if they choke themselves enough on his beloved apple crumble, brush up his full dress that's still hung in their closet spotlessly enough, swallow enough unshed tears by his grave, they can find the peace they gave to him and denied themselves.

It’s a long time that they stand by the grave, unspeaking, greying hair swept in their faces by the wind. Eren has been longer in this world than Erwin ever was, and it still strikes him as odd. Erwin never had a chance to develop crow’s feet or silver temples, and here they are, growing old like death forgot to collect them.

Afterwards, they visit the other graves, plucking some weeds here, scraping some moss there. Then they go home, and as always on this day, they fuck. It’s neither tender nor gentle but vicious, desperate. They can never look each other in the face when they’re like this. All the accumulated feeling of loss and regret has reached a critical mass, and they need something, _anything_ , to numb it. Need to let go and succumb to the white noise that sex provides. On another day, there may be kisses and idly roaming hands. Once their demons recede to the back of their minds again to only haunt their dreams.

Eren leaves Levi’s bed immediately after they finish. He’s too raw, too open to be around him now, like one of those strange crustaceans right after moulting. In his own room, he lights a small candle, puts it close to the picture of Erwin he clipped from a newspaper and framed long ago and put on his nightstand. The paper is yellowed with age, the details of the printed drawing hard to recognise. Then he removes the chrysanthemum from his coat lapel and gently tucks it behind the frame. Sits in front of the small arrangement and wills the images of death and blood, the stench of burned flesh and perforated bowels to dissipate. Behind the closed door, he hears Levi moving about, probably opening the windows to air the place a bit. 

The soft knock on his door is not part of their ritual, and Eren is puzzled. Levi slips inside, looking everywhere but at Eren, his face an open wound. This is new, and suddenly their carefully crafted balance is teetering. Eren holds his breath, scared that a single sound from him might tip it over into catastrophe. Levi’s fingers bunch and unbunch the hem of his shirt ceaselessly. Slowly, Eren gets up and walks over to where he is standing, and only when he takes hold of his clammy fingers he realizes Levi is trembling like a leaf. 

So long. So long each of them has carried his burden alone. So long they have denied themselves to mourn together, maybe seak comfort and solace in each other. Convinced they deserved to suffer alone. Deserved not to heal.

Gently, Eren leads Levi to his bed and lets him slip under the blankets. Climbs in behind him, reaches up to turn Erwin’s framed picture so they both can see it in the soft glow of the candle. He lets his hand hover over Levi’s chest, unsure whether he’s allowed to hold him. Levi grasps his hand and guides it to lie over his heart, laces their fingers together, and his hunched shoulders only relax when Eren makes no attempt to pull back. 

They don’t sleep, only watch the candle slowly burn down until the world behind the window starts to emerge again in vague shades of grey. Their shared warmth spins a fragile cocoon of calm. Perhaps, something like peace.

**Author's Note:**

> Do not question why Eren is growing old and grey in this - it's just a fanfic writer's whim.


End file.
